


Sleepyhead

by silhouette (thiefless)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Forehead Kisses, Future Fic, M/M, Peter is 21, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Peter Parker, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 19:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21276488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiefless/pseuds/silhouette
Summary: Peter Parker was asleep in his bed, and it was a problem.This was all F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s fault.





	Sleepyhead

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is just basically an internal monologue into Tony's Feelings set some time after Titan.
> 
> Pepper and Tony never got back together after Civil War, and Peter was 18 when Tony recruited him (Peter is around 21, going on 22, in this fic). Endgame stays the same except Tony didn't use the gauntlet so did not die.
> 
> Hope you guys all enjoy this.

When Tony awoke the following morning, his surprisingly-alert brain was aware of three things.

One: Tony really needed to get a handle on his crippling anxiety and the knock-on effect it had on both his sleeping schedule and symptomatic nightmares. (Titan was ages ago; really, he should have a handle on it by now.)

Two: F.R.I.D.A.Y. truly was an interfering menace. (And Tony calling _that name_ in the throes of a heightened panic-induced dream did not quantify actually calling _that name_ to come and calm him down in the real world. Thanks again, Fri.)

Three: the warm body curled up beside him, all tantalising and warm and home, was Peter.

It was a problem.

Peter Parker was asleep in his bed. No matter how many times he rattled the fact in his ginormous genius-sized brain, it never quite felt real.

And yet there he was.

The sight should be not as alluring as it was; as tantalising as nothing Tony'd ever seen before.

It was the best rest Tony'd got in years. The safest he'd felt for as long as he could remember.

The hot breath blazing a hole in his shoulder should have felt stifling, invasive, and yet Tony did not mind. The possessive arm slung around his stomach made him feel secure, cocooned by the comfort of Peter's body wrapped around his. Their legs were enmeshed and entwined, like a dance they'd perfected over time.

It was odd being the little spoon to this arrangement – odd but very welcome.

Tony suspected that Peter had drooled on his shoulder at some point during the night – that should definitely not be as endearing as it was.

Peter was still fully clothed, draped on top of the duvet, as though not fully committing to sleeping beside him. He was rocking that Spider-suit, even in sleep – and yeah, Tony's thoughts really needed to change the subject. Like, yesterday.

Maybe he'd meant to leave but fallen asleep?

Nevertheless, Tony was steadfast in his refusal to speculate on the motives of one Peter Benjamin Parker. It wasn't his place. Peter wasn't _his_, no matter how his irresponsible, infuriating Feelings languished in that statement.

Ugh. This was a nightmare. A nightmare that Tony had no problem revelling in.

Tony remembered how the kid had shaken him awake: all wide-eyed and nervous as they desperately roamed Tony's face. Peter's voice had trembled slightly as he informed Tony of the situation, of how F.R.I.D.AY. had called him because of Tony's inability to handle a goddamn night's sleep on his own, like some glorified toddler.

God, Tony was going to dismantle F.R.I.D.A.Y. Maybe sell her parts for scrap. Or donate her as an educational assistant to those mini geniuses over at MIT (Tony's trademark slogan didn’t include ‘philanthropist’ for nothing). Seriously. It was all F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s fault.

In the face of a very sleepy and brutally, undeniably gorgeous Peter Parker – who was there, alive, in front of him and not vanishing to dust in his arms – Tony had turned away in a petulant fit, drawing the covers up around him as a barricade. Like Icarus flying too close to the sun, he knew that if he gave into the impulse to get close to Peter, he'd fall. And he didn't want to fall. Not yet. He wasn't ready yet.

(He knew Peter would catch him. That damn kid would always catch him; would gladly throw himself underneath him and break his fall if need be. But Tony didn't want to break the kid's back; spine snapping, crushed underneath the weight of all of Tony's mess.)

Much to his surprise, though, Peter didn't leave. In hindsight, Tony really shouldn't have been surprised, given that Peter had a stubborn streak that rivalled his own. Instead, he had crawled his way on top of Tony's bed. Hadn't tucked himself in, though, as if he were feeding off of Tony's silent dismissal. He just lay there, safe and warm and comforting, and let Tony soak up his presence.

However, with the inviting presence of the person Tony fought the universe to get back laying right beside him opened up a whole 'nother can of worms – or rather, _urges_ that Tony could no longer pretend he didn't receive. Like the fact that, right in that split second between sleeping and awareness where everything was free from temporal constraints, he wanted to fold Peter in his chest, hook a leg over his, and fade away into Never-Never Land.

But Tony was used to telling that desire to go screw itself. Was accustomed to forcibly shutting down _that_ part of his brain when it got too rowdy, too cocky for his own good.

Of course, that same impulse control had no control over an unconscious Tony, which was why when he awoke after possibly the best night's sleep he'd ever received, he found that he had clasped his hand in Peter's where it was looped around his stomach. Had even intertwined their fingers too, as if Tony hadn't already been painfully aware of just how far he'd fallen for Peter.

_Get it together, Stark_, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Thanos’ hissed. _You’re in the real world now._

Even as quietly got ready for what was honestly shaping up to be the most painfully boring meeting of his life, Tony couldn't stop his eyes from wandering to Peter's sleeping form. His traitorous eyes greedily drank in the image he presented: sprawled out across his bed, looking as though he belonged there. With Tony.

This. Was. A. Problem.

Of epic proportions.

Sleeping in Tony's bed, body wrapped around Tony's, whispering Tony's name in a voice thick with slumber – god, it had awoken something fierce and primal within him. And the longer he stared at the picture-perfect scene in front of him, the more he indulged in that little fantasy. Of the idea that Peter could ever be _his_.

Reality was just a shadow round the corner, though, darkening behind the flame. It came in the form of F.R.I.D.A.Y. quietly urging Tony on to begin the hour long meetings, which will be spent droning on and on about nothing in particular. He won't be able to function at his best – not when the knowledge that the man he loved was currently _still in his bed_.

He resented the idea of leaving Peter alone in his bed. Tony was only too aware of how little Peter valued his own worth - Tony didn't want Peter to feel as though Tony underappreciated what Peter had done for him; what he always did for him, just by being so indescribably _Peter_. This wasn't some cheap gesture. Not like the warm bodies that littered his bedding in the past. No, this was Peter. The kid who, despite rational thought and judgement, stayed with the mess that culminated in Tony Stark. Who saw Tony at his worst and did not bat an eyelid, who cocooned Tony in the warmth of his body – not for vulgar attachment, but for comfort and security.

_And love_ some traitorous part of his brain hissed but Tony was point blank refusing to entertain that notion.

... Not before he'd had his morning coffee, at any rate.

Tony was just about to leave the resplendent image presented in front of him when Peter’s sleepy sound ruined any attempt at leaving.

"_Tony_," Peter murmured in his sleep, brow scrunching adorably as his hand desperately sought his presence.

(And, _oh!_, Tony had never heard his name spoken like that in all his life. All expressive; longing, adoration and tooth-rotting sweetness all rolled into one. To be perfectly honest, Tony had never heard his name uttered in a manner that wasn't simmering with barely concealed resentment or had the syllables poised as a weapon against him, dripping with disdain and loaded with fiery accusation. But the sound of his name falling from Peter's charming mouth chimed like home. A euphoric utopia, in fact. The way his lips curved the soft edges and hugged the ending letter, drawing it out in sleepy contentment...

Yeah. It was perfect. Peter was perfect. Tony had already known that. What he was blissfully unaware of was just how beguiling Peter was when he breathed _Tony_ in place of the formal _Mr. Stark_ – yet the latter had the capacity to be equally in the right situation... but Tony was most definitely not going to go there. No siree!)

Tony's felt his whole countenance soften as he adjusted his cufflinks, residual PTSD-related grief subsiding the longer he looked at Peter's sleeping form. Without so much as a pause for consideration, Tony leaned forward and pressed a feather-light kiss to Peter's rumpled crown. It was achingly tender, the way he ghosted his lips across Peter's skin – Tony didn't even know he had the capacity for gentleness and he had the evidence right in front of him.

The effect was instantaneous: Peter's restless movements ceased and his expression smoothed into one of peaceful sleepiness. Just from the slightest touch of Tony's lips.

Peter shifted as Tony drew away and Tony froze, afraid he'd been caught with his guard far too low down, but all Peter did was heave a contented sigh and bury his head in the pillow that still held Tony's scent and lingering body heat.

It was gratifying, Tony mused as he put on a pair of rose-tinted aviators, to see Peter succumb to the comfort and safety Tony provided; to know that Tony could soothe him the same way Peter had lulled him time and again.

God, Tony desired nothing more than to possess the capability to freeze time. Just a cheeky little snapshot of this moment, this tiny fragment out of time, that Tony could bottle up and carry around with him. Warmth, love, comfort, safety – all of that. Peter.

Goddamn it all. He really was head over heels.

Finally, when he literally couldn't put off leaving any longer – he had relegated Fri to Pepper duty, as punishment for the A.I.'s part in the fiasco that somehow capitulated Tony's whole life – he snatched his eyes away, hauled his briefcase that contained his nanotech suit (hey, Tony was a legitimised control freak, now) and left.

But not before leaving behind a brief note for Peter.

_Hey, kid_, he started. So far, so good. _Good job last night_ – Tony winced at the poor wording, painfully aware of how the semantics could be misconstrued. _Stay as long as you want. The Tower's yours for as long as you'll stay. Tony._

Belatedly, because he anticipated Peter's reaction: _Yes, Peter. That is my name. Any person who shares my bed has to call me Tony. Call it a post-requisite._

(No, Tony couldn't resist the double entendre, not when the facsimile was so heartbreakingly similar he almost lost his bearings.)

And with one final glance at the alluring illusion of sleepy contentment laying in his room; at the very picture of tranquillity Peter presented–

Tony left.


End file.
